Power Play
by Amadaun
Summary: Not all power is to be found in war and politics. Some find theirs in ruling just one person. Martin/Baurus slash. One-shot.


Disclaimer: I don't own these characters (Bethesda does), only the twisted little situation I've put them in.

A/N: My first attempt at slash. Since _somebody _sort of dared me to write some. You know who you are. Personally, I think it worked surprisingly well. As for warnings...implied sexual situations, D/s, and slash.

(Oh, and while the "Martin as Sanguine worshiper" is the same sort of characterization you'll see in my "Lesson in Restoration" fic, this isn't part of the continuity. But if you're curious about how I've tried to explore that side of Martin's character, please go read it. Since this is a one-shot, I don't develop it as much here.)

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If the original architects of Cloud Ruler Temple hadn't been long gone, Baurus would have hunted the idiots down and told them how badly the place was put together. One training area out in the bitter cold, the other crammed down here in a little, dim, oppressively stuffy, and _hot _lower room. Not a single one of the Blades could train down there for more than a few minutes in full armor without being all but blinded by sweat. As for Baurus, he'd stripped off his shirt and armor the moment the door closed behind him. His pants would have been next if it hadn't been for a certain comment from Caroline the last time he'd done that.

He swung his katana fiercely and took another chip out of the already well-battered combat dummy. His old swordmaster would be horrified to see him now. Ignoring all rules of swordplay in favor of simply beating the hell out of a defenseless block of wood. He didn't care. He had things – many, many things – to work out.

He'd already worked though each and every Mythic Dawn cultist he could remember, imagining their faces on the dummy and killing them over and over. Working through the pain of the Emperor's death had been harder. He still wasn't sure if he'd managed it completely, but his katana had chipped and he'd been forced to stop to repair it lest he snap the blade in two.

The source of his current frustration – and the cause of a whole _new _set of chips – was currently standing somewhere in the room above, reading yet another of his blasted books, smiling gently at anyone who passed, and chatting with the Blades as though he were their equal. Their _equal_, for Talos' sake!

Emperor Uriel had never tried to bring himself down to their level.

Baurus' thoughts were interrupted by a quiet cough behind him. He turned to see that the aforementioned source was actually standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching him.

"My lord!" Baurus dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

"Baurus, please. I've told you that you don't need to do that. I'm not a lord."

"Forgive me, my lord, but you are. You're the Dragon Born." Inwardly, Baurus seethed. Why did the Emperor's heir insist on doing this? Didn't he realize the Blades didn't want a friend – they wanted a leader?

Martin turned those damned sad eyes on him. "Please. You obeyed and respected my father. I don't demand your obedience, Baurus – but I do ask you for your respect."

"Of course." _Only _he _would consider being called 'my lord' a term of disrespect. _Baurus stood and turned back to the combat dummy. He had just pulled back his arm to strike when Martin spoke once more, his soft voice carrying an odd note.

"There is no need to lie to me."

Baurus' katana chinged off of the dummy's chain, sending reverberations up his arm. A curse escaped his lips as he dropped the blade and shook smarting fingers. "…dammit…What did you say?"

Martin moved closer and repeated, "There is no need to lie to me, Baurus. I am not a fool. You see me as but a poor substitute for Uriel Septim." He continued walking until he was nearly nose-to-nose with the other man. "You want a master, and you seem to think I cannot fill that role."

Despite himself, Baurus took a step back. The look in those pale eyes…so like the Emperor's…

"I don't understand you, Baurus. The others, yes, but not you. The Blades want an Emperor. They see me as their last hope. And they'll do whatever I ask – wholeheartedly, without question. But you…every action of yours is tinged with subtle disgust, even as you follow me around like a lost dog. You refuse to acknowledge me as a Septim, and yet you still refuse to see yourself as my equal. You puzzle me."

"I -" Baurus cast about for something, anything, to say. He hadn't expected this. To think that the Septim heir – far from just smiling complacently and reading his books – had been studying the Blades without notice. The Blades! The spymasters of the Empire!

And worst of all, the man was right. Baurus lowered his gaze. "You know my blade is yours, my lord."

"Is it?"

Again with the piercing gaze. He tried another rote reply. "All of the Blades are yours to command."

"Are they?" If Baurus had been paying attention, he would have noticed the warning signs – the same signals the old Emperor had given when he was about to lose his patience. The paleness about the lips, ice-blue eyes snapping and hardening, a subtle shift of his body beneath his robes.

Damn it! He recalled what he had told the escaped prisoner, the night of the Emperor's death. _It's the Dragon Blood. The Septims – they can see more than the rest of us._ He hadn't really believed it, of course. Not until just now. Then again, he had barely believed Martin was a Septim, until just now.

Hot blood rushed to his face as he stared in anger and bewilderment at the man before him. Finally, he spat out, "Yes – if you are any kind of master, or Emperor, at_ all_."

A glitter of triumph in those pale eyes. Uriel's eyes. "You admit that you doubt me?"

_To hell with this. _"Yes! I'll admit it. I served Emperor Uriel for years. I would have gladly died for him. But I didn't. I failed. And now I have no one to serve. I thought you'd be like your father, but you're just a backwoods priest. You don't know anything of ruling, just bowing and scraping and standing there with a mouth full of platitudes."

Baurus spun on his heel to stare at the wall, so Martin couldn't see his face. And so he couldn't see the way Martin's face, so like his father's, paled further in anger. He shook his head. "You're no Emperor. And you're certainly no Uriel."

"I see." Martin's voice was calm. Far too calm. "You want a master? Someone for you to bow and scrape to? Fine." Suddenly, Baurus felt a strong hand on his back, shoving him face-first against the wall. He tried to push back, but the heir was far stronger than he looked. He tried to reach behind, to grab Martin's arm, only to find his own arm caught in a viselike grip and pressed against the wall as well.

"My lord! What - !"

"Be still. I may not be my father, but I have my own way of mastery."

The cloth of Martin's robes was rough against Baurus's bare back. He tried to struggle again; but again, Martin was too strong. He hadn't expected that either. What had this priest been doing in Kvatch? Holy books weren't _that_ heavy.

"Have you ever heard of Sanguine?" The heir's tone was almost conversational, his mouth a mere breath from Baurus' ear, "In my youth, I sought Him out. I left the Mages Guild in search of true power. And I found it. I learned many ways of controlling another with the skills Sanguine granted me."

The bruising pressure on Baurus' back lessened, even as his insides twisted in sudden emotion.

"His sphere may be Revelry, but He, of all beings, knows that some prefer to find their pleasure in power. So very many different ways of gaining power, and all so undeniable and utterly subtle. Let me show you."

Martin ran his fingers up Baurus' neck to rest in the hollow behind his ear. When the younger man shuddered and gasped, Martin continued in the same calm tone, "I know ways to bring a man to his knees without ever laying a hand below his waist. I know ways of seductive power and delightful depravity. I don't speak of them often, for obvious reasons, but my silence in no way means my memory has dimmed."

His fingers drifted down the back of Baurus' neck, down around his shoulders, finally resting on his chest. Touches…teases…Baurus almost yelped aloud when Martin's nails dug into a particularly sensitive spot. Instead, he convulsed and grunted at the almost-pain, almost-pleasure.

"Ah…" Martin's voice now sounded pleased to Baurus' ears, "The body of a man is so different from that of a woman. Women are soft, pliable, full of hidden depths and deep emotions. Beautiful…and so challenging. You have to coax them, like a flower opening to the morning sun. But men, ah!" Martin chuckled, and Baurus could feel the vibrations in his own chest. "We are so easy. Hard, unyielding, and strong, yes; but with just the right touch – "

Martin's finger flicked over Baurus' ear and he groaned. "My lord…"

" – the right touch and our bodies answer. The challenge to a man is in pushing him past the point of surrender. We never seem to want to surrender – not even to ourselves."

Baurus felt Martin's breath quicken as he continued the pattern of touch. Pleasure, followed by pain, soothed again by pleasure. Then, just as Baurus was learning what to expect next, the pattern would shift. From touches so light they were barely there to bruising pressure. From scratches and pinches to a warm breath across his skin.

The heir was playing a game of mind, flesh and power, using the Blade's body as his game board.

A pause in the pattern, the sudden halt as much of a shock as the deluge. Martin was whispering again. "How did my father gain your loyalty, I wonder? I am not the first Emperor to be a student of Sanguine."

Baurus flushed at the implication, but the heir gave him no time to protest or affirm. The pattern began anew, this time more forcefully. Martin's hand flew up to cover Baurus' mouth a spilt second before he _did_ cry out. The heir made a noise not unlike that of a pleased cat, his other hand still moving over hot, damp skin.

"Pity the others are nearby. I would have liked to hear you scream." Martin's breath was coming quite fast now. There was the barest of tremors in his soft voice. His fingers shook ever so slightly, continuing the pattern. Baurus realized he was no longer pinned to the wall. Indeed, he hadn't been for some time. Yet…

"I shall have to be content with what I have. You may leave now, if you wish." The heir's grip loosened and he stepped back. His hands lifted away, leaving Baurus trembling, soaked with sweat. Leave? Movement seemed impossible. He couldn't, wouldn't move. He couldn't even speak. If Mehrunes Dagon Himself had attacked at this point, he would not have moved. Martin had indeed pushed him past the point of surrender. They both knew this to be the case. What kind of man could simply walk away now? What kind of man had that sort of control?

What kind of man _was_ this priest?

"N-no…" the word was little more than a ragged breath, forced out between dry lips.

"No? Last chance, my Blade. Let me warn you now, if you stay, I mean to break you." The promise contained within Martin's voice sent a shudder through Baurus' core. "You will be mine. One last chance to flee."

Baurus shook his head and managed to whisper, "I'm staying…my lord."

"I see." The heir brushed his lips against Baurus' throat. His hands stroked down over his stomach to the tender skin beneath his navel to play with the fine hairs.

"Martin…" Baurus' voice was a pleading whimper.

"_Now_ you use my name? No. You wanted so badly to name me your lord – and you will. And you will mean it." The burning lips against his shoulder turned up into a smile.

And the fingers – the teasing, terrible, talented fingers – drifted downwards.


End file.
